Ruthless
by NefarioussNess
Summary: "Let. Me. Go." Scott snapped. He raised his hands, and clawed the air, a mere few inches from Stiles' face. But his best friend held his ground, biting his lip as he watched.
1. The Sound of Your Rapid Heart

"You're going to be alright, buddy."

His claws were scraping along the flooring of the old warehouse. It was old and abandoned, making it perfect for the full moon. The concrete underneath his exposed hands and feet was freezing, and his vision was frantic. One second it was normal, and then all of a sudden it would turn into a hellish red.

Stiles was on his knees, a foot away from Scott, who was snarling in his chains. Long, jagged claw marks ran down his throat, throbbing painfully and spewing blood. It had subsided somewhat (it had been torturously loud in Scott's ears), but Stiles had this look of dizziness on his face. His hands were resting on his knees, ignoring his wound as he watched Scott with a weary expression. Dark shadows were under his eyes, and his hair was tousled and unkempt.

And all Scott wanted to do was tear the rest of his throat out.

_Calm down,_ he tried ordering himself, but seeing Stiles' blood was causing him to go into frenzy. He strained against the chains encircling his wrists, pulling them taut, but they still held. They were working a fuckload better than a single handcuff on a radiator, that's for sure.

"I can handle this, Stiles," Scott suddenly begged, trying to sound innocent. "I haven't wolfed out entirely; it's just my claws, see?! Let me go, alright?"

"You were doing so well," Stiles muttered sadly. He kept staring into Scott's eyes, wide and unblinking.

"Let. Me. Go." Scott snapped. He raised his hands, and clawed the air, a mere few inches from Stiles' face. But his best friend held his ground, biting his lip as he watched.

Being under the influence of the moon was suffocating. And Stiles' calm demeanor seemed to only infuriate Scott even more.

"Come on, _SCREAM!"_ Scott roared. "I can hear your heart pounding, so why aren't you running away?!"

"I'm not going to leave you Scott," Stiles replied.

Scott growled as he felt his fangs force their way down, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His vision was once again bathed in that horrific red, and something sinister caught hold of his tongue. Stiles had jokingly called it "Dark Scott", and that it was a temporary alter-ego that was all bark and no bite.

Scott silently prayed for it to stay that way as he felt mouth begin to work against him.

_"I'm surprised you hadn't,"_ Scott sneered, snapping his teeth. _"Because seriously, why do you even bother anymore, Stiles? He's moved on, can't you tell? You were useful in the beginning when your knowledge held some of the more vital cards, but they're obsolete now."_

"Looks like Dark Scott is back," Stiles said, but his voice wavered.

_Shut up!_ Scott screamed in his head, but whatever this black entity was refused to let up.

_"You label me that way because you're afraid that I actually mean every word of it,"_ hissed Scott. The chains were suddenly less restraining, and he reached out, grabbing Stiles by the wrists. Stiles, unprepared, was thrown forward, landing on his stomach. He began to scramble away, but Scott was too quick for him. He grabbed Stiles by his slender hips, and flipped him over so that they were face-to-face.

Scott slid Stiles down a notch, and straddled him as he sat on his stomach. The chains felt looser on his wrists, and he grinned viciously. He gave them an experimental tug, and they whipped forward, chinking ominously against the concrete ground.

_"You didn't even bolt these in correctly!"_ Scott laughed, and it was cold and cruel, dripping with venomously intent. He traced a claw down Stiles' cheek, ending just beneath his chin. _"Did you want me to escape, Stiles? Were you planning for this exact situation to unfold?"_ He clamped his hands down on Stiles' wrists, holding them above his head as Scott leaned forward.

_"Did you want to be punished by me?"_ he whispered breathily into Stiles' ear.

"Kinky," Stiles said, staring at Scott, "but this isn't you, Scott. Snap out of it. You know you're gonna feel stupid about this later."

_"How would you know?"_ Scott hissed, eyes glowing gold. _"Did you take a crash course on Scott's Brain 101? How do you know that this,"_—he licked a strip of the clawed up flesh on Stiles' throat—_"isn't what I want? What _we_ want?"_

"Why don't you get back to the part where you damage my self-esteem?" Stiles said.

_"Keep talking dirty,"_ Scott growled, _"you're getting me all hard."_ He began to drag his tongue across Stiles' exposed collarbone, and made his way up to the hollowed base of his neck, lapping up the perspiration.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're telling me it took this long for you to decide to fuck me? You're kidding me, right?"

The chains slid noisily across the ground as Scott released Stiles' wrists, and immediately latched onto his throat. He squeezed just enough to hear a strangled gasp escaped from Stiles' lips.

_"You wish you had this, didn't you?"_ Scott said, releasing Stiles from his grip. He then proceeded to slide his hands down Stiles' chest, and slipped them beneath his grey T-shirt. He palmed the flesh underneath, and slowly edged the fabric up. _"All of this power? I can hear it here,"_ he whispered, scraping his claws over Stiles' thudding heart.

"I don't want it," Stiles said weakly. His eyes were red; his body limp underneath Scott's. "And I wish you didn't have it either, sometimes. It fucks with your head, Scott, just like it's doing now."

_"You're lying."_

The vicious hold of darkness was slowly ebbing away, and Scott gasped, sucking in air. His vision was muddled, and then became crystal clear. He looked down, and instantly felt shame. Stiles was looking up at him, his face void of expression.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Scott cried out. He slid off of Stiles before pulling him into an embrace. He felt Stiles stiffen before going slack in his arms, resting his head on Scott's shoulder.

"He came out too much this time."

"I'm sorry, I'm trying so hard to reign him in—"

"My neck hurts."

Scott laughed, in spite of himself. He pressed Stiles closer to him, and felt his best friend's heartbeat slow down from the hammering trait it possessed earlier.

_I'm sorry. _


	2. Your Blood On My Claws

He didn't see Stiles for the rest of the weekend, and when he spotted him on Monday his heart clenched painfully in his chest. A tan-colored bandage was pressed against Stiles' neck from where Scott had slashed his claws across it. It was an eerie contrast against the rest of Stiles' pale, un-shredded flesh, and was bound to garner questions. The bandage was visible, despite Stiles wearing his grey hoodie, which was undoubtedly chosen to cover up the other various wounds that currently ransacked his body.

Allison had rounded the corner at that exact moment, and her eyes widened when she got closer to him. "Oh my God, are you okay?!" Allison asked worriedly, gently touching Stiles' neck. Scott felt a burst of envy and shame as Stiles nodded carefully, giving her one of his easygoing smiles.

From across the crowded hallway, Scott was able to hear every single word of their conversation without his presence intruding on the flow of dialogue.

"What happened?" Allison asked.

Stiles shrugged casually, wincing from the movement. "Just the usual," he replied, and Scott heard his heart rate spike momentarily. "Friday night was kind of a bitch, that's all."

Allison frowned, biting her lip as her eyes lingered on the bandage. Stiles scoffed, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Don't worry about it," he told her, grinning for reassurance. "Don't make a big deal about it, especially around _certain people_."

Allison nodded slowly, and her eyes wandered away from Stiles' neck, and suddenly locked onto Scott's from across the hall. She looked sad, and Scott watched her go as she walked into the classroom. He wished that they were on the same level like they were before, before she and her father left for the summer and Allison had returned withdrawn and guilt-ridden.

Scott had also noticed how Allison always watched Stiles, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something to him. He wondered why that guilty look was always  
directed at his best friend. It was only recently that she had mustered up the courage to directly talk to Stiles.

_"You grew it out," Allison said, gesturing at Stiles' hair with one of her hands. Stiles blinked, and ran his fingers through its messy expanse, as if surprised by it._

_"I had a busy summer," he told her, his tone friendly and polite. Scott had noticed from afar Stiles' tense posture, looking unsure of himself. "I didn't have time to shear it off."_

_"You should keep it," she said, giving him a small smile. "It looks nice."_

* * *

Chemistry was torture, because all Scott could focus on was the dull thud of pain echoing from Stiles' hidden wounds. He remembered how the blood congealed down the sides of Stiles' neck, slowly turning black and sticky as the night had worn on. How more blood beaded and poured from his wrists from where Scott punctured them with his claws. How his palms were torn from smacking into the concrete.

Dark Scott had momentarily returned, becoming more physically violent with every gesture.

Physical, as in the _sensual_ sense.

_He dragged his elongating claws across Stiles' chest, baring his fangs as he leered at him. He let them trail down, making their way to Stiles' sides and eventually gripping his hips._

_Scott had crowded Stiles in against the northern wall of the warehouse, pressing their bodies together. Stiles was staring at him, his eyes wide and focused on Scott's golden ones. Scott grinned viciously, and plunged his claws into Stiles' hipbone. Stiles hissed in pain, and Scott elicited a low chuckle as a few hot tears escaped from his friend's eyes. _

_Stiles didn't cry out in pain or sob as Scott ripped his claws out, and brought their bloody tips to the human's face. Scott trailed them across Stiles' cheek, catching a few of his angry tears as he streaked the warm red against the pale flesh. Scott brought his claws to his own mouth, slowly licked away the mixture of salt and diluted plasma. With his other hand, he gripped Stiles' chin, forcing his mouth open as Scott shoved his blood-slick tongue into it. He explored its interior, feeling Stiles' body stiffen against his. Scott grinned against his lips, and thrust his tongue in deeper, forcing a small moan from Stiles. His mind—the sane part of it—screamed at his body to stop before he could choke him to death._

_The dark part of him, on the other hand, was fascinated and turned on by the idea, and thought of a more vibrant part of him that Stiles could swallow down instead…_

_Stiles then tried to move, causing Scott's vision to bleed red, and he gripped both of Stiles' wrists, slamming them into the metallic wall behind him._

"Don't move,"_ Scott hissed, digging his claws into the soft, thin flesh. He felt the rapid throbbing of Stiles' veins, and nudged deeper in, grinning maliciously. Blood welled up from where his claws had lodged themselves in, and began to trickle down Stiles' long, white arms. _"We don't want to tear them open, now do we?"

_Stiles managed to roll his eyes, despite all of this. He squirmed as Scott tightened his grip on him, and Scott shuddered against him. There was barely a breath of space between them now._

_"Hey, dialling the real Scott now," Stiles muttered, glaring at the werewolf._

_Scott laughed, a growl humming in his throat. _"Line's busy,"_ he replied darkly. _"You'll have to put up with me until he gets back."

_"How about some breathing space then?" Stiles said calmly, but his heartbeat was thundering in his ears, and Scott could practically hear the blood racing through his veins. It was exhilarating._

"But we're used to sharing everything with each other,"_ Scott said softly, and licked a messy line down Stiles' blood-smeared cheek. _"The answers for our homework, the same clothes, and sometimes our beds…"

_"Well, that completely jumped from somewhat innocent to downright creepy."_

_Scott smiled savagely, and dislodged his claws from Stiles' wrists. Stiles hissed in pain, but kept his eyes fixed on Scott's._

_That look was constantly a challenge, and right now the werewolf needed a challenge._

_Scott grabbed Stiles around the middle, and brusquely tossed him. Stiles' body flew through the air, smacking into the hard concrete. He broke his fall with his palms, and Scott could smell the blood from the fresh wounds. When Stiles finally struggled and got to his feet, dark handprints were stained thickly on the floor._

_Scott's blared red when he advanced toward Stiles, fangs bared and fully wolfed out. _

The pen in Scott's hand snapped in half, and he stared dumbfounded at it as ink poured from the shattered remains. It spread across his knuckles, and snuck onto his palm, dripping wetly onto his notebook's open page.

He had to get out of there. Scott stood up, quietly gathering his things. Harris' back was to them as he wrote some overcomplicated formula on the blackboard. Scott managed to close the door behind him before hearing Harris' sharply call out his name.

He headed to the washroom, dumping his backpack at his feet. Warm water from the tap ran across his hands as he furiously scrubbed the ink out of his skin. His hands were a faded blue when he heard someone else enter, softly closing the washroom door behind them. He breathed in the scent, and his stomach heaved from guilt.

"Scott?"

Scott spun around, seeing Stiles awkwardly standing there. His hands were at his sides, and his eyes were roaming Scott's face, obviously looking for a reaction.

"Hey," Scott managed to say, because what else were you supposed to say to your best friend after spending the full moon—

"Why'd you leave?" Stiles asked. He sighed, and blinked rapidly, like he had had too much Adderall. It only made Scott most restless and aggravated that Stiles couldn't figure it out.

"I couldn't take it, that's why," Scott began, forcing the air in and out of his lungs. He could feel the tips of his claws eking out of his fingers, and after a few seconds they retreated. "I can hear your blood pumping while your wounds stitch themselves together underneath your clothes."

"You can hear my skin heal?" Stiles asked, and he looked impressed by that. Scott wished that he wouldn't; it was horrifying and he couldn't shut off the volume, no matter how he distracted himself from the noise.

"It's like an orchestra in my head!" Scott shouted, and looked toward the door. Nobody was coming in, thank God. He whipped his head back to face Stiles, who had paled a little.

_Good, he should be afraid,_ said a seductive voice in his head.

"Shut up," growled Scott, clamping his hands over his ears. "Shut up, you're not here."

"Scott?" Stiles whispered, and Scott vaguely felt him grabbing his shoulders. "Scott? Hey, listen to me!"

_I—no, _you_ enjoy his fear, don't you?_ said the voice. _You have to admit, it _is_ delectable, having your prey at your mercy, with nothing but your mood deciding on whether or not he lived. But I don't think we scared him enough during this full moon, did we?_

"Shut up," Scott repeated, and it soon became a mad mantra of banishment. "Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…"

The dark voice chuckled softly, echoing off the walls of his mind. _There's always the next full moon, Scott, and you know that he's too stubborn. He won't abandon you, and thus the cycle will continue—_

"SHUT UP!" Scott screamed. He shoved Stiles maliciously away from him. He'd forgotten his own strength, and Stiles' body slammed into the opposite wall, rebounding and hitting the floor from the force. Stiles managed to get himself into a half-sitting position just before Scott, eyes golden and bloodthirsty, drove him onto his back as he straddled his hips. His claws snapped out, and were digging into Stiles' biceps, pinning him down. Stiles' heart rate had skyrocketed, and he was watching Scott with wide, concerned eyes.

"Breathe Scott," Stiles said as Scott's fangs protruded from his mouth. "Come on, don't let that asshole control you. Remember how you stopped yourself from killing all of us that one night? You refused to be Peter's little Beta puppet then; you can cut yourself from _his_ strings now."

Scott snarled at him as his vision turned into an overwhelming crimson field. He heard Stiles wince from pain as the werewolf dug his claws into his flesh. He felt his mouth open of its own accord, twisting the corners into a sneer.

_"But don't you remember, Stiles?"_ he said, grinning down at his friend. _"I wanted to kill you that night. I wanted to kill _all_ of you."_

"But you didn't," Stiles said, gritting his teeth as Scott ripped his claws out of his arms. Stiles reached out, and grabbed Scott's wrists, causing him to growl. "You reined it in, which is good. So kindly tell Dark Scott to fuck off; it's hard to breathe when he's on top of me like this."

Scott felt his fangs and claws retreat, and his fiery vision pulled out, revealing his human-like view once more. Stiles' grip on him slackened, his arms falling limply onto the floor above his head.

Scott gasped, swallowing mouthfuls of air. He looked down at Stiles, who was watching him nervously. He gave the werewolf a small smile of relief, just as the washroom door opened.

"Oh shit!" said the guy entering, nearly backpedaling right out the door. "Sorry, I swear I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt you two!" Scott suddenly realized what the scene must've looked like with himself positioned on top of his best friend like this. He was still shocked from his loss of control moments before to feel any sort of embarrassment.

"Ah, come back!" Stiles shouted at him as the kid retreated, most likely to another washroom. "You're going to miss the climax!"

Scott sighed heavily, and his head fell forward, resting his forehead on Stiles' shoulder. "It's not getting better," he murmured, "I think it's getting worse."

"Hey," Stiles replied, reaching out to ruffle Scott's hair. He winced as blood bubbled up from the clawed gouges on his arm, and Scott felt a wave of guilt crash over him. "We'll work it out, alright? We'll send that asshole packing!"

_No,_ Scott thought desperately. I can't get you involved. _You keep getting hurt because I can't get control over him. _


	3. The Bite of My Words

Scott quickly shrugged off his jacket, wordlessly handing it to Stiles. He grabbed the hem of his friend's shirt, and pulled it over his head as Stiles weakly shoved at him, saying that he was fine. Scott's gut twisted when the bandages were revealed on his chest, previously hiding underneath Stiles' clothing.

"Geez, you're grabby," he muttered, but allowed Scott to manhandle him into a sitting position against the wall. Blood was still oozing from where Scott's claws had pierced his arms, and Scott immediately stood up, grabbing and wetting some paper towels in the sink before pressing them on the wounds.

"Scott, I'm fine," Stiles protested as the werewolf began to furiously wipe at the gouges. The blood was continuing to seep through; turning the paper towels a light red. "Scott, stop. I'll live, okay?"

"I DID THIS TO YOU!" Scott suddenly screamed, and Stiles jumped, pressing his back closer to the wall. Scott's eyes were glowing yellow, and his fangs were out. The paper towels slipped from his grasp, falling damply to the tiled floor (thankfully, his claws hadn't come out). He gestured shakily at the white gauze and tape strewn across Stiles' chest, which was black with old blood. "I had better control in my first week as a werewolf than I have lately! The evidence is all over you, Stiles! Stop ignoring it! Stop pretending that I'm not a fucking threat to you!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, as if Scott was overreacting to a minor nuisance. "Scott, it's okay. You haven't killed me—"

_"Yet,"_ Scott finished gravely, looking into Stiles' eyes. He needed to convey how serious the situation was; how Stiles' wellbeing was constantly in danger lately. It's been like this all summer, ever since Allison and her dad left Beacon Hills in order to get away from the murderous supernatural tendencies that their town seemed to possess. The first full moon after their second break-up had damaged his self-control. He had tried focusing on his memories with Allison as an anchor, but they weren't strong enough or diluted by the heartbreak. Stiles had been there that night, and received deep claw marks down his back as payment for refusing to leave.

It had also been the night that Dark Scott re-emerged, holding Stiles' head down as he threatened to shred his throat open.

Nights after the fact Scott would awaken from the most realistic nightmares that he'd ever been forced to endure with; sweat and tears pouring down his face as his mind relived the horrific imagery. They had begun with him mutilating Allison to death in his beta form as she screamed for mercy. Her bow was always out of her reach, snapped in half and her arrows scattered. He could still hear the cracking of her bones and the disgusting snap of her neck as his hands twisted it at an impossible angle.

Allison's form would then morph into his mother's as his dark side relished in ripping her intestines from the gaping hole in her stomach. While awake, Scott could still taste the thick coppery taste of their blood in his mouth and the tacky feeling on his fingers. Dark Scott had laughed in these dreams, as if this were all a game to him. Scott soon came to the realization that it probably was. Scratch that, it _definitely_ was.

Another full moon had passed, and after breaking the pointer, middle, and ring finger on Stiles' left hand, Scott's mother and Allison disappeared from his dreams, now replaced with his best friend. Those felt real as well, because in them Stiles kept talking back in his sarcastic manner even as Dark Scott throttled him to death, leaving a ring of bruises around his throat.

Over the summer, the nightmares became more sexually graphic, and Scott became too afraid to even name the atrocities that he'd committed. He tried blocking out the more painful bits, but Stiles' screams continued to echo and multiply in his mind. Scott cringed whenever the memories of Stiles' sarcastic words and demeanor was painfully whittled down to pleading sobs instead; begging his dark side to stop as Scott forcibly entered him, savouring his cries…

"And you're not going to," Stiles said, breaking into Scott's thoughts. "Because I'd end up becoming a ghost and haunting your sorry ass for all of eternity." He gave off a weary smile, but his eyes were empty of their usual light.

Scott ran his tongue along his teeth; his fangs were still there. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms on the cool tiles. He took in several breaths, and soon enough his wolfish canines had retreated. He gingerly picked up the paper towels, and placed them in the garbage can close by.

"Wait here," he told Stiles. "Please, just wait for me; I'll be back."

Stiles silently nodded, and Scott slowly turned away from him, shoving the door open. Classes were still in session, so the hallways were devoid of students. He made his way to Stiles' locker, where he knew he kept a first aid kit nowadays. Scott fiddled with the combination, hearing the familiar clicks before the locker door swung open.

He was just about to grab the kit and shove the door shut when he heard, "Scott?"

"Hey," Scott said, turning to face Allison. His eyes didn't quite meet hers.

His stomach still did that backflip whenever she was in his presence, but it had dulled over the summer. When he'd told Stiles, his best friend had just rolled his eyes in that affectionate, _dude-you're-an-idiot _way, saying that Scott was finally getting past that stage of "lovesick first love".

Allison's arms were crossed, and she was leaning against the lockers, watching Scott carefully. She bit her lip, concern flashing in her eyes. "He's hiding most of them, isn't he." she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Scott replied, clutching the kit more tightly.

"He's been taking a lot of hits from you lately," she replied softly. That guilty look was back on her face, and it frustrated Scott not knowing why it was there.

"I've been trying to keep him away," Scott said, "but you know how he is. He usually gets his way in the end. You tell him to do one thing and he does the complete opposite."

"I'm sorry, but that sounds like the most pathetic excuse for letting this happen to him." There was no real heat in her words, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.

Allison uncrossed her arms, and pressed her hands to her face before dragging them down her face, sighing heavily. "I just… I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose, and I know that I don't know all of the details but… You have to stop this, Scott. For his sake as well as yours."

"So what are you saying that I should do?" Scott asked quietly. "Tell him that he can't be around me when there's a full moon?" He knows he's being selfish, but he _needed_ Stiles to be there. You might as well rip off his arms and legs, because it would have the same effect on him.

"Yes," Allison said quietly, catching Scott off guard. He didn't expect her answer to be so simple, yet blunt. But when he looked at her, her eyes were fixed on him, that familiar gleam of a hunter's determination in them.

And that's when it hit him; Allison was a hunter, and Stiles was human. Her family business—former business, there was a reason the Argents had bailed for the summer—was all about protecting humans from the supernatural beasts that walked among them. Anything that killed a human was instantly a target for extermination.

Mr. Argent would have no problem putting Scott down, he was sure of that. He always seemed to have it out for him, even before he knew that Scott was a werewolf. But Allison… it would be more difficult. It was complicated between the two of them, but she knew Scott; she knew that he would never purposely hurt someone.

And yet there was Stiles, perfectly human and capable of dying at the hands of his best friend.

"You have to tell him to stay away," Allison urged. "Tell him he's not even allowed to help put you in lockdown during the full moon. Tell him that you don't need him—"

"I can't," Scott interrupted, and he felt rage stirring beneath his breastbone. _Why is this any of her business in the first place? Her and her dad ditched the moment they fucked up the Code too much, and now she's trying to tell _me_ how to handle this?!_

He forced himself to calm down. He understood Allison's intentions, but they still irritated him.

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can't or you won't?"

Scott turns on his heel, heading back to the washroom as Allison angrily calls out to him.

* * *

Stiles grimaced from the stinging pain coming from his arms. They'd stopped bleeding as soon as Scott had left, promising to return. Dark blood had congealed around the wound, and the streaks of blood running down his arms had ceased and had begun to flake. Stiles gingerly scraped his nails along it, but stopped soon after, hissing from the strain.

He looked down at his torso, and began to peel off the medical tape holding his bandages in place. The cuts had mostly healed with the new skin still pink and tender. Stiles slowly rose to his feet in small increments, and walked over to the sink. He stripped off the remaining bandages, and turned around, his bare back now facing the mirror. He looked over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes at the massive gouges now scarring his back. He remembered the sadistic, playful nature of Scott's dark side as he dug his claws into his back.

"This is my new signature,"_ Scott said, dragging them brusquely across the exposed flesh. He had Stiles pressed up against the wall, breathing hotly against his throat as his claws took a new angle and tore downwards. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to be an illusion. _"It's unique, and very telling to other wolves. They'll see this, and know."

_"Know what?" Stiles sneered. His fingers curled into fists, digging his nails into his palms as the pain increased tenfold. "That you claimed me as your bitch? Ah, fuck! Jesus! 'Cause you know—_Fucking hell, man!_—it's going to take a lot more than that to make me submit to whatever sick fantasies you have going around in your head."_

_He could feel rather than see the twisted smile on Scott's face. _"Is that so?" _he replied as he ripped his claws out of Stiles' back. Stiles felt his warm blood run down in rivulets, staining his skin, jeans, and whatever remained of his T-shirt._

"I can be patient,"_ Scott breathed into Stiles' neck, and Stiles felt himself shudder against his will. He was trying so hard to stay level-headed and to snap Scott out of the moon's influence. He whimpered as Scott slid his hands down Stiles' sides, making his way down to his hips. He gripped them possessively, and pressed himself closer to Stiles. _"We got all night, and there are so many tactics that I would love to try out on you."_ He pressed a kiss to Stiles' throat, and Stiles' stiffened against him. Scott chuckled darkly, and snaked his arms around Stiles, pulling him from the wall. Stiles' survival instincts immediately kicked in, and Stiles struggled uselessly, feeling the wounds on his back reopen with searing pain._

_"Scott, SCOTT!" Stiles screamed. The corners of his vision began to darken, and Stiles forced himself to stay alert as the werewolf dragged him away with ease. "Scott, you've got to wake up and fight this asshole! Come on Scott, this isn't you! Scott?! SCOTT!"_

Stiles didn't remember what happened next because he'd woken up in the hospital with an impossible amount of stitches closing his wounds and a white-faced Scott sitting next to his bed. His doctors told him that he'd lost a ton of blood, and was lucky to get into surgery when he did. He'd been close to dying.

But he was alive, and Stiles had repeated that an insane amount of times to Scott, who looked guilt-ridden for weeks after the fact. Scott tried avoiding him, but Stiles wouldn't have it, and hid in Scott's room one night while waiting for him to return from whatever bullshit errand he was running. He nearly gave his best friend a heart attack when he opened his bedroom door and flicked on the lights, only to see Stiles lying on his stomach on his bed in order to keep the weight off of his healing back.

They argued, going on back-and-forth with the conversation going around in circles: Stiles insisting that Scott needed him while Scott pointed out that Stiles had just _gotten out of the fucking hospital_ because Scott hadn't been strong enough to hold his aggression back. In the end Stiles won, which wasn't a surprise because he always got his way with Scott.

"Those don't look pleasant."

Stiles froze, and closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. He slowly turned his head to face forward before reopening them. Seriously, how did he not hear the door open?

Peter was standing there, smiling as he softly closed the door behind him. Stiles watched him warily, wishing that he had some of his mountain ash on hand. He and Lydia had been secretly stockpiling it, trying to find a way to infuse it into everyday items and weaponry. Peter could tell that Stiles was defenceless, because he picked up Stiles' discarded shirt and Scott's jacket with such ease from the ground; he didn't spare Stiles a glance as he completed this task.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles demanded, and he hated how his voice sounded shaky. Peter continued to smile as he fisted the clothing. He brought it up to his face, and inhaled the bloodied material of the shirt.

"I was in the neighbourhood," Peter said calmly, lowering clothing from his face.

"Bullshit."

"And I thought I should check in on my former beta," Peter continued, as if Stiles hadn't interrupted him.

"Scott was never yours in the first place," Stiles snapped, his heart now beating against his ribcage.

The werewolf stilled, his eyes fixed on Stiles. He wasn't blinking, and he slowly cocked his head to the side, observing the teenager before him. Stiles felt like squirming under his scrutinizing stare, but he stayed put.

"How did you get in here?" Stiles demanded. "I doubt that you signed in at the office to get a hall pass."

Peter rolled his eyes, as if Stiles was being insolent on purpose. "I walked in through the back doors."

"Of course you did," Stiles muttered. "How many school visits does this make it now? Four? One of the last times were you around here you nearly mauled Lydia to death!"

"Technically, that was _outside_ of the school," Peter said loftily, waving his hand casually. "But you don't seem to care about the details about that little mishap." He shook his head. "Sometimes you can be a one-track mind."

"You were saying that you were here for Scott," Stiles said, carefully measuring his words. He wasn't much of a match against a powerful werewolf like Peter Hale, but he'd be damned if Scott came back now and got involved in whatever was going on now. He willed Scott to stay away, praying that a mental link between them would suddenly spring open.

Peter nodded slowly. "I regret not being able to teach him properly," he said. He took a step toward Stiles, making Stiles backpedal into the sink. He gripped the edges of it, trying to keep his shaking hands occupied and steady. He suddenly realized how exposed he was with his naked chest, and wanted to snatch his shirt back. He instead held his breath as Peter got closer, his eyes glinting in that malicious fashion of his.

"His first lesson should've been control," said Peter, stopping just in front of Stiles. "I should've been the one to instruct him. Receiving second-hand information from my nephew and your own research could only provide so much help." They were nearly the same height, but Stiles suddenly felt small and insignificant under his gaze. He wanted to avert his sight, but forced himself to stay focused on Peter.

"But we got the gist of it," Stiles said back. "He has an anchor—"

_"Had,"_ Peter corrected, and now he was so close that Stiles could barely get an inch of breathing space from him. He reached around, and pressed his fingers against one of scars on Stiles' back. "Your body is very telling about his lack of it."

Stiles' body shuddered involuntarily as Peter's burning fingers traced the claw mark that curved down his spine. "Wait, have you been _spying_ on us?" Stiles asked angrily. "And how long have you known about this?!" He tried to push Peter away but the older man was as quick as blinking. He grabbed both of Stiles' wrists in his hands, keeping a firm grip on them. Stiles hissed in pain as his wounds throbbed across his body.

Peter leaned in close, and smiled. His thumb was circling the pulse on Stiles' right wrist as he held the teen's hands close to his face.

"A while," he replied coolly. "It was a very dull summer, and Scott's struggles, however violent, were very entertaining. But it's gone on long enough." Peter pressed his mouth against Stiles' ear, and Stiles felt his hot breath as the werewolf spoke. "I think it's time for me to aid my beta and tutor him, don't you think?"

"We can handle it on our own," Stiles said.

Peter huffed softly, and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. But you two are joined at the hip, aren't you? You can't of one without pairing them with the other. Scott will need some motivation to create a new anchor, and you can help with that part."

Stiles' eyes widened in realization just before Peter smashed his head into the countertop and he quickly blacked out.


	4. The Scent of Your Skin

When Scott couldn't hear Stiles' heartbeat, his mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. Gripping the first aid more tightly, he dashed back to the bathroom and nearly tore the door off of its hinges as he shoved it open.

Stiles was gone.

Scott's felt all of his blood rush up into his head as it seared with heat and panic. He looked around wildly, and immediately fixated on the drops of blood on the floor near the sink, right next to Scott's discarded jacket and Stiles' shirt. Dropping the first aid, he went over and crouched next to it. The blood had congealed onto the floor, which wasn't surprising. It was still terrifying, though; did one of Stiles' wounds reopen? He told him that he would be back, so where did he go?

Scott nearly jumped when his phone rang. It vibrated in his hand as he pulled it out of his pocket, playing "Hungry like the Wolf". Stiles had jacked Scott's phone one day and made it his personal ringtone. Scott hadn't bothered to change it, and was now relieved to hear the damn song play.

"Stiles?" he asked, answering it.

"Close," said the voice, "but he is here with me. Still unconscious, I'm afraid."

Scott grew cold at those words, and all remaining warmth drained from his body. Surprisingly, his hand holding his phone was steady, his heart mirroring the calmness.

"Peter."

"Scott," the older werewolf replied, and Scott could practically see the calculating smile on his face. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Where is he?" Scott interrupted, struggling to keep his voice even.

Peter sighed heavily on the other end. "Cutting straight to the point, Scott? What do you have against idle chitchat?"

"Where. Is. He?" Scott growled, and he felt his vision bleed red.

"This sudden affection for Stiles is charming, Scott. Last time we spoke it had been Allison this and Allison that. You've grown past your childish first love. That's a good sign."

Peter was stalling to garner anger, and Scott knew it. But it was difficult to stay calm with Stiles missing and with Peter in possession of his phone Scott was able to put two-and-two together.

"Don't make me ask again."

"I'm not, you're doing that yourself."

The last bit of self-restraint smouldered away, and Scott gritted his teeth. "Tell me where he is or I swear to God—"

"Patience, sweetheart," Peter replied coolly. "It's a virtue."

It didn't make any sense; why did Peter take Stiles in the first place? Scott hadn't spoken nor been in his presence for months now. Peter had made no attempt to contact him during that time, so why now?

"I want to help you," Peter finally said. Scott must've spaced out for a moment; he barely registered that the conversation was still going on. His mind was screaming _StilesStilesStilesStilesStiles_, making his thoughts go fuzzy and numb as they melded into one name.

"And how are you going to do that?" Scott demanded. He winced as the school bell shrilled in the hallways, and his senses went into overload from the hundreds of bodies exiting the classrooms and clamouring just outside the bathroom door. "By pissing me off by _kidnapping_ my best friend?"

"You're a clever boy Scott," said Peter slyly. "Clever and a little… _unhinged _as of late. I know that we haven't been keeping in touch, but even I tend to notice when something's amiss. Your sidekick smells like hunted game as of late, thanks to those adorable nicks and scratches he's been receiving from a certain someone. You've done quite the number on his back.

"I think you can easily guess how I want to help you. It's a lesson in control, something you've been lacking. I don't want to blame you entirely, but it's your responsibility to acquire an anchor of sorts to keep you grounded."

"I already know that," Scott growled, but he felt his chest constrict all the same. He knew what Peter was implying the moment he said the words.

Stopthisstopthisstopthisstopthisstop—

He felt his grip on his body lessen, and struggled as the other, sinister side of him wrestled for control. Scott felt himself being mentally shoved to the sidelines as a laugh erupted from his throat.

_"You really think that's going to work?"_ Scott sneered, his mouth twisting into a dark smile. He huffed out a short, cold laugh, even though his mind—his actual self, not this demonic voice that constantly took over—was screaming at him to stop. _"I figured out your little plan in seconds, Peter. Do you know how many times that stupid kid's been ripped from safety without Scotty noticing? Let's see… there was that infamous lacrosse game, for example. How's this time going to be any different?"_

"For one," Peter replied calmly, as if he never noticed the change of inflexion in Scott's voice, "I'm directly telling him the circumstance. Last time was a private meeting between Stiles and I."

_"Scott's not home right now,"_ Scott hissed. _"But I guess I could take a message from you. Doesn't mean that I'll relay it to him later."_

"Who am I talking to?"

Scott grinned, baring his teeth venomously_. "His better side. The one that'll keep him alive as long as he obeys like a good little boy."_

"He tends to be rebellious against authority figures," Peter said politely. "You've inherited quite a handful." It was as if they were discussing a harmless, disobedient child instead of a young man capable of tearing his high school into bloody shreds on a dangerous whim.

Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. _"It's nothing I can't handle. But his guilty conscience _does_ getting annoying at times. He prevents me from taking over because of that little handjob you yanked from right under his nose. He makes an excellent whetstone for my claws; I don't know what Scotty sees in him."_

"That's where you and I think differently on the matter," replied Peter. "I find Stiles to be fascinating."

_"If you like him that much, you can_ try _and keep him."_

Scott could practically see the older werewolf raise an eyebrow at that statement. "Try?"

_"Yeah,"_ Scott said savagely. _"I only ever liked him because I got to hear Scotty sob over his human frailty. But that was when it was on _my_ terms. Now that you have him, well, I don't like that at all. What's mine is mine and all that. I could just leave Stiles to your mercy, but that would be on _your _terms, wouldn't it?"_

"Leaving Stiles with me isn't my goal," Peter said.

Scott laughed, tossing the phone lightly in the air before grabbing it with his other hand. He pressed it to his ear before grabbing Stiles' shirt off the tiles and stood up. _"Isn't it? You said you found him fascinating, but in what way were you implying?"_

"Certainly not in the same way that you are."

_"Oh really?"_ Scott muttered. He inhaled the scent of Stiles before dropping the garment back onto the floor. _"What, are you one of those insane people that like him for his mind?"_

"I think we're getting off track," Peter said evenly. "What I need is for Scott to come to the location that I'll text to him after this call."

_"For your lesson, right?"_

"Exactly."

Scott shook his head. _"I don't know, Peter. It seems like whatever option I choose, you come out on top. I go there, and you'll try to exorcise me from poor, pathetic Scotty. I ignore this obvious trap, and you have Stiles all to yourself."_

"But I know you won't allow that," Peter replied. "What's yours is yours."

_"True,"_ Scott said darkly. _"And I hate the idea of sharing my toys with you."_

"Then it's settled," Peter said victoriously. "I'll see you in one hour. Try to be on time; it would be unfortunate on Stiles' part if you arrived late."

After he heard the familiar beep of the call ending, Scott sank to his knees, staring at the cold tiles. He was back in control it seemed. Hot tears gathered in his eyes, ones that he hastily wiped away with the back of his hand.

He had heard the entire conversation, and his stomach heaved unpleasantly. His phone vibrated in his hand, and Scott looked down. Peter was true to his word; the address was barely twenty minutes away by car.

"Scott?"

The young werewolf whipped his head around. Allison was standing in the doorway, biting her lip warily as she watched him.

Her eyes glinted with that hungry look of a hunter.

_Allison isn't like them,_ Scott told himself, and was surprised by how truthful that statement was. He felt ashamed that he ever doubted her good intentions, and allowed himself to be touched as Allison crouched down next to him and gently took the phone from his grasp.

"It's too formal for Stiles," she said simply. She sounded business-like, but her professional demeanour crumbled once she saw the broken look on Scott's face.

"This is all my fault," Scott whispered.

"No Scott," Allison reassured him. She cupped his cheek with her free hand, turning his head ever so slightly so that their gazes locked. "I'm sorry for saying those things earlier. It's just… Stiles is my friend and he thinks he's invincible, but the truth is—"

"Peter took him because I can't control myself," Scott interrupted. His eyes briefly turned gold before returning to their soft brown. "It feels like a trap—no, I _know_ it's a trap. Peter understands how my brain works better than anyone. He threatens the people I love to keep me in line, and I hate playing into his hands this way, but—"

"It's Stiles," Allison finishes, and gives him a sad smile. "I know how it feels, to do things for the people I love."

Scott was grateful in that moment that Allison was there. His hands ceased their trembling as he slowly rose to his feet.

"I have to go," he said. Scott had already memorized the address. Running on all fours would be the quickest way.

"Running doggy style through the woods is going to alert someone," Allison said, as if reading his mind.

_Doggy style?_ God, that was the type of lame joke that Stiles would be making.

"I don't have a car," Scott said, "and besides, Peter would hear the engine from a mile away. I don't want to alert him, even if my plan was to crash through the wall and run him over."

"Your way will look feral to my dad and other hunters that wouldn't think twice about shooting you in the head," Allison argued. "Besides, I'm not letting you go alone. Two is better than one, and a couple of arrows in the knees should slow Peter down." She folded her arms across her chest, giving him a confident smirk.

Scott slowly nodded. It had taken him a while to accept the fact that Allison could take care of herself. He couldn't help the protective feelings he still had—will always have—for her safety.

"We have less than an hour," Scott said.

"My supplies is already in my trunk," Allison grinned.


	5. The Fear With You Gone

It was so dark that Stiles' eyes had a difficult time adjusting. Something cold and metallic encircled his wrists, and he suddenly realized how sore his arms were from being suspended above his head. He was kneeling, and the legs of his pants were soaked through from the freezing water.

Stiles' eyes fully snapped open, panic fluttering in his chest. Water was pooling around him, three or four inches of it, steadily rising. He tried standing, but he slipped and his knees smacked the tiled floor. Stiles looked up, and the blood drained from his face.

His wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs, latched securely to a pool ladder whose rungs dug uncomfortably into his back.

Wait, a fucking _pool?_

His eyes scanned it immediately. He was trapped in the diving tank; the white numbers on the opposite side of it informed him that it was twelve feet deep. With these kinds of pools there was no shallow end for him to easily clamber up and escape with, even if his hands were free. Stiles sighed, tugging experimentally at the handcuffs. What was with him and potentially drowning these days?

"It's good to see that you're finally awake."

Stiles felt the bile rise in his throat as he heard Peter's voice from above. He craned his neck up; Peter was perched on the edge of the pool, smiling down at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I'd ask where you get the handcuffs from," Stiles said, shaking them for emphasis, "but I seriously think I don't want to know."

Peter rolled his eyes, as if Stiles was being the unreasonable one here. "Relax," Peter said, swinging his legs over the edge. He pushed forward, and landed a few feet from Stiles, barely making a splash. When he turned to face the teenager, his eyes were glowing with that icy blue.

Stiles swallowed nervously, but his voice remained steady when he spoke. "Relax? How am I supposed to do that when I'm shackled up like bad bondage porn?" His teeth were chattering, and he looked down. He was still missing his shirt, which wasn't helping matters much. His skin felt clammy for being God-knows-how-long in this pool.

Peter walked over to Stiles in a few short strides and grabbed Stiles' hips (thank God he was still wearing his pants) and forcing him to his feet. This gave Stiles more slack in his chained wrists, but they still hovered awkwardly by his sides. He stumbled slightly, but Peter was there to hold him steady, his spidery fingers gripping his biceps.

It was then that everything from the bathroom came back to him, and Stiles instantly understood the entire set-up that Peter had prepared. Stiles looked past Peter's shoulder, and saw the old swimming banners on the walls. He'd been here before when he was little, back when his mother was still alive and not ebbing away in a hospital room. His heart twisted horribly at the memories, and then he shoved them away in order to deal with his current predicament.

This was one of the older recreation centres that had been shut down this season for some major maintenance. Stiles noticed the smile on Peter's face, and he felt dread climb up his throat.

"Usually there are people working day shifts here," Stiles said slowly, watching the older werewolf for a reaction.

"They have… taken the night off," Peter replied coldly. Stiles' eyes darted, staring at Peter's hands. His claws were out, lightly digging into Stiles' arms. It didn't break the skin, but Stiles could've sworn he saw dark blood under his nails anyway.

"Looks like death hasn't changed those murderous tendencies," Stiles scoffs, but he winced as Peter drew close, his mouth now pressed against Stiles' ear.

"We're not here to discuss me," he hissed impatiently, and Stiles could feel the scrape of teeth against his soft earlobe. "Remember?"

The conversation from the bathroom filled his mind: _Scott will need some motivation to create a new anchor, and you can help with that part. _

"Scott," Stiles breathed, and Peter nodded sharply. "No, no, no, nope, not going to happen. I refuse to go along with this trap. Because that's what it is, a freaking huge _trap_." Stiles pretty much expected that Peter left Scott a message in blood on the bathroom wall, saying something so classically villainous like 'COME TO SILENT HILL' or 'HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER' in order to initiate the final showdown.

Peter shook his head. "It's not a trap, it's a _lesson_," Peter corrected. He gripped Stiles' chin, forcing him to look into his eyes as they pulsed with that glowing blue. "Lessons need motivation, otherwise there's no reason to garner new skills or information from them."

"Then what's the motivation here?" Stiles challenged. He winced as Peter's hold on his chin tightened, pricking him with sharp claws.

"Don't feign ignorance Stiles," Peter warned, digging his claws into the flesh. Pinpricks of blood welled up, and Stiles tried to ignore the stinging pain as crimson beaded down and collected before dripping off his chin. Peter was glaring at him now. "I told you once that you were the clever one; you know exactly what I'm planning and if you don't cooperate now—"

"Oh yeah, because I've been such a willing participant so far," Stiles gritted out. This earned him a hand at his throat, lightly squeezing with the promise of additional pressure.

"Do you really want to test me?" Peter growled, "Especially when you're—?"

"In such a compromising position?" Stiles said helpfully. He gasped loudly as Peter ripped his claws out of his chin. Trickles of blood followed in their wake. The werewolf casually inspected his bloodied fingertips before returning his focus to his "lesson plan".

"At my mercy," Peter finished coldly. He lazily brought his free hand back to Stiles' chin, stroking the blood from his fresh wounds across his lips and cheek.

Stiles' eyes glanced down at his feet, and his heart leapt when he saw that the water was just below his knees.

Peter smiled cruelly. "At my mercy," he repeated. He nodded at something behind him. Stiles' eyes followed, and panic seized his chest.

Several black hoses were hanging off the other end of the diving tank, gushing out torrents of water.

* * *

"The Beacon Hills Recreation Centre?" Allison said, frowning as they sped down the road. She was pushing herself to go over the speed limit without drawing attention to themselves. Scott sat in the passenger's seat, morbidly still and tense. His kneaded his fists into his legs, forcing his claws back into his fingertips.

"It's been closed for a while, but it's not abandoned," Scott breathed out. He closed his eyes, practically hearing Stiles guiding him through something breathing exercises that he found on the internet.

"There seems to be a lot of those," Allison mused. "Abandoned buildings, I mean."

"It's the economy," answered Scott absentmindedly.

"It seems like the town can afford to have quite a few of them lying around."

Scott's eyes snapped open, focusing on the road ahead. They were so close now that the anticipation was driving him insane.

Finally, Allison swerved into the nearly emptied parking lot and settled into one of the vacant spots. Scott swung his door open, slamming it shut as he walked across it.

A few vehicles were scattered through the parking lot, no doubt belonging to some of the employees working inside.

Knowing Peter, it was now a past tense for them.

Anger roiled in his stomach at the thought. "We got nine minutes until the deadline" he heard Allison say behind him. He nodded, but his focus was on a sleek, black car parked neatly in front of the recreation centre's doors. Scott walked up to it, snapping out his claws in the process. Fury was building in his chest. He was terrified for Stiles and felt unspeakable hatred for Peter in that moment. There was no doubt in his mind that this was car responsible for the abduction.

Without thinking, he slashed the rear tires, ripping the rubber into jagged strips as the air was forced from its containment.

"Scott!" Allison warned, just as Scott gutted one of the front tires. Before he could tear into the fourth and final one he felt Allison's hand on his arm.

"He can't get the insurance on them if there's at least one that isn't punctured," she said with a small smile.

Scott lowered his hand, retracting his claws in the process. She was right; he remembered Stiles listing off that random fact during one of Adderall withdrawals.

_"Having to pay for new tires will be the least of his worries,"_ Scott growled. He lightly tugged away from Allison before pushing his way through the front doors.


	6. The Breath in Your Lungs

There was no doubt that Peter had heard him entering the place; Scott just hoped that Allison's presence was still a mystery. A surprise attack would lose its meaning and safety otherwise.

He heard her heartbeat as she took an alternative entrance from the outside. There was a door not too far away on the side that led to the outdoor pool deck that was used during warmer weather. At this time they should all be drained or covered with tarps. Scott silently prayed for her stealth and safety before walking forward.

Scott now stood in the middle of the main reception area, his wolfish red vision sparking in and out as he tried to maintain his control. Peter's words came back to haunt him: _Try to be on time; it would be unfortunate on Stiles' part if you arrived late._

He was here _and_ on time. He wanted his best friend back.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against his ribcage just before it exploded into a roar from his mouth.

"PETEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!" he screamed. The nearby windows from the doors and panes of glass of the reception desk shuddered violently, cracking in some spots.

Silence followed. Scott's hands were shaking; he clenched them into fists, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable encounter.

_Yelling like a spoiled child won't get you anywhere,_ sighed the voice in the corner of his mind. _Really Scott, I wanted to give you at least five seconds of control to figure out a better allurement, but clearly I'm going to have to do this myself._

"No," Scott protested, but he could already feel his grip slacken on his own conscious. He struggled against the dark entity, pushing and shoving at it, but it was hopeless. He felt his sanity succumb like jelly, pooling at the bottom of his head. He tried to reform, but his other self was expanding, reaching every corner of his mind with ease.

"I'm supposed… supposed to…" he murmured helplessly.

_"Hello Peter,"_ Scott suddenly sneered, extending his claws with an elegant swipe.

The door leading to the indoor pool area slowly opened. Out stepped Peter, an easy smugness plastered to his lips. He looked confident, like he'd already won. Scott longed to slash that look clean off of his face.

Actually, shredded to itty bitty pieces would suit him better for _stealing_ _his boy._

"I wasn't worried that you'd be late, Scott," Peter replied coolly. "You have this strange obsession with being the hero of your own black-and-white reality. And naturally, the hero always arrives in the nick of time."

_"You have something that's mine,"_ Scott hissed. He cracked his neck, twisting it in an eerie, uncomfortable fashion. Fangs elongated from his mouth, eyes bleeding yellow into the brown as unnatural hair sprouted from his cheeks. _"I've come to reclaim it."_

"As long as he's able to hold his breath for an extended period of time," Peter began coldly, "then he's all yours."

Scott shook his head slowly, as if Peter had made a fatal error. _"For that,"_ he said, _"I'll start with those eyes you so love to roll around in your skull. They're such a pretty blue."_

* * *

The door was mostly made of glass, but Allison didn't want to risk alerting Peter to her presence. She would have to be quiet and sneaky, praying that ninja-like stealth would suffice in this operation.

During the summer she'd decided to acquire some other useful skills, away from her father's suspicious looks and interfering voice. It was so hypocritical of him to only want to teach her the skills to rip a werewolf in half only when they weren't posing a direct threat to them. Over the summer, she had had time to think in small, quiet spaces, to mull over recent events. Allison had picked apart every scenario and happenstance, her chest burning with guilt from every stupid mistake she had committed. She didn't want to feel back for taking a stand and try to protect her friends, but did she really make those choices with a clear mind?

_Allison had been testing the tautness of her bowstrings when she heard muffled voices from downstairs. She perked up immediately, straining to hear the conversation. She heard some angry shouts and someone's body smacking into the wall. She stood up, and opened her door just a jar._

_One of her father's hunters was struggling with a boy garbed in lacrosse gear, a red jersey and—Oh God, Allison recognized that gangly form from anywhere._

_"Sti—?" she began to whisper, but flinched violently when the hunter kneed Stiles in the stomach. Stiles gasped and swore, crumpling to his knees as he tried to gain his second wind._

Why was Stiles here?_ Allison watched silently as the hunter grabbed a fistful of Stiles' jersey and forced him back to his feet, steering him in the direction of the basement door._

_The basement had Derek's two Betas down there; why was Stiles joining them?_

_The worst scenario came to her mind: Stiles had been turned. Allison quickly shook her head; that was a ridiculous notion. Stiles was human, and—_

_Then why was he being dragged to the interrogation room like a common criminal?_

_Allison closed her door, trying to clear her mind. She couldn't think about that just now; there were more important matters at hand, like killing Derek and stopping the kanima. _

Allison squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears streaming down her face. Her new talents could _save lives_ now, instead of just ending them. She had convinced herself that they could be equally used in non-supernatural circumstances, so it was actually killing two birds with one stone.

The one she needed right now would help unlock a door.

Allison produced a lock pick from her jacket pocket, and began to nudge at the lock on the door. She listened for the familiar clicks until it finally swung open. Allison grabbed her crossbow that was by her feet, and slipped inside.

The sound of rushing water smacked into her ears. It echoed loudly off the walls when it should've been dead silent. Allison's eyes scanned the room; the kiddie and main pool with the water slide was bone dry. It only took her a split second to realize where the source of running water was coming from.

She ran over to the huge black hoses that were currently vomiting out water into the diving tank, now half-full. The room was dimly lit, so Allison nearly missed the dark form submerged in the water across from her.

She held in a gasp when she saw a fear-struck, white face break through the surface momentarily before being engulfed by the liquid once more.

Allison stripped off her jacket in and dropped her crossbow in one fell swoop, running around the edge of the pool until she was closer to Stiles before diving head-first into the tank. The angle and formation of her body allowed the plunge to sweep through the water into a smooth, curved arc, bringing herself just a foot away from Stiles. She opened her eyes as she quickly assessed the situation.

Huge bubbles of air spilled from Stiles' mouth as he failed to hold in his precious oxygen. His eyes were closed, and his arms were suspended above him. Allison looked up, and saw the handcuffs.

_Hold on for five seconds,_ she thought desperately as she swam toward the surface.

Allison gasped for air, desperately reaching into her pants' pockets for her lock pick. The blood drained from her face when she couldn't locate them.

She had put them back in her jacket.

Allison swam over to the pool ladder that Stiles was chained to, and climbed it in a hurried fashion. Her clothing clung uncomfortably to her skin as she skidded over to her crumpled jacket, and fished around in her pocket. Her hands shook, but she finally got a hold on her lock pick.

Taking a huge swallow of air, she jumped back into the tank.

* * *

"I would prefer if you didn't," Peter said, bringing his hand up to his face to touch the corner of his eye. "I doubt my healing abilities are capable of growing a new set for me."

_"Tough luck,"_ Scott growled. _"You should've thought of that before drowning _my_ toy."_

"He's not dead," Peter replied, rolling his eyes. "That would be counterproductive." He didn't get another word out as Scott lunged at him, swiping at his face with his claws.

Peter ducked, the claws just grazing his cheek. He twisted his body away before Scott's next assault, whose eyes were blazed with anger.

_"Wrong answer."_

Scott grabbed a nearby chair and swung it at Peter as Peter backed away, evading every attempt of getting his face smashed in. Scott finally threw it and his aim proved true; the chair splintered and cracked from where it struck Peter's abdomen.

Peter crumpled to the ground, a hand clutching at his stomach. Scott bounded over, grabbing a huge shaft of broken wood and slammed it into Peter's thigh. He grinned savagely from Peter's roar of pain, his eyes glowing blue and fangs extended. Scott loomed over Peter, watching as the blood bubbled up and spilled over his leg, seeping onto the floor.

The image of stabbing his claws into his mother's chest flashed through his mind, and Scott stumbled back. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to push back that old nightmare. He felt a fraction of control return to his limbs, just as Peter ripped the section of chair from his thigh.

Peter admired the wood that was soaked dark red before tossing it to the side. He turned his attention back to Scott, glaring at him coldly.

"Did that trigger something?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. Peter slowly rose to his feet, and Scott heard the broken skin knitting back together. "Are you finally learning, or do you need more incentive?"

"I—" Scott began, but he was suddenly knocked back, landing flat on his back. Peter was on him in seconds, a clawed hand pressing against his chest while the other clutched Scott's throat.

"You should've learned it quicker," Peter hissed. He was angry, genuinely angry, and his next words made the blood in Scott's veins freeze. "You always want to save everyone, Scott, and that's despicably noble of you, it really is. But you failed again. His lungs are submerged and waterlogged because of you."

"You said he wasn't dead," Scott whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Peter or hear his awful words anymore. If Stiles really was—if he was _not here_, Scott would be able to feel it.

"Ah, but you know as well as I do that he has a hard time keeping his mouth shut," Peter replied. He gave an experimental squeeze on Scott's windpipe, smiling at the strangled gasp that followed. "Such a pity, I really did admire him. He could've been a beautiful werewolf."


	7. Your Teeth On My Lips

Allison pushed her way through the deep water, kicking behind her when she began to lose momentum. Her eyes were wide open; they would've been burning if there was actual chlorine mixed in. Allison allowed a steady stream of air escape from her mouth as she reached Stiles. His eyes were closed and his mouth was gaped open, and Allison prayed that there was still a shred of oxygen left in his lungs.

She brought the lock pick in front of her, and began to wheedle away at closest handcuff. Allison had been practicing with a variety of locks lately, all containing a different set of tumblers. Luckily, this particular lock had two, but even then it was tricky given the underwater circumstances. She couldn't hear the clicks due to the pounding water muffling her hearing, but she felt the sense of the tumblers clicking into place and unlatching. Her heart sagged in relief when the first handcuff was released.

Allison tugged Stiles' wrist out of the loosened cuff, and proceeded on the second one. A thin trail of air bubbles billowed out of pursed lips. Her chest was burning, screaming for oxygen. She was so close, but she'd be no good to Stiles if she passed out now. Cursing herself, she pushed her body toward the surface, gasping and choking for air. She gathered a swallow of air into her mouth, and pushed back down the rampaging waves. The water was reaching the edge of the tank now.

Getting back into the rhythm, Allison inserted the lock pick into the second cuff and moved as swiftly as she could without backtracking or losing her progress. Stiles' body was swaying back and forth, but it was because of the whim of the moving water and not his conscious decisions. Allison's hand shook, and her chest seized with panic, but settled when the lock clicked open. She yanked the cuff open, pushing it away.

Stiles' body hovered in front of her, even though it was free of its restraints. A flurry of panic Allison gripped her, and she reached out to her friend. She dug her hands under his armpits, keeping a tight grip on him as she surged both of their bodies upward.

The water levels were still rising, nearly reaching the top of the diving tank. Stiles' head broke through the surface, lolling on his shoulder as Allison emerged and gasped for air. Her hair was clinging to the sides of her face like cold tendrils. Stiles', meanwhile, was plastered across his forehead. Allison held him against her chest and swiftly pushed back his hair with one hand. He was quite still in her arms.

"Stiles," she said urgently, "Wake up. You have to wake up."

There was no answer, not even a gasp for air.

Water spilled over onto the floor as Allison lifted and rolled him onto the cool surface, now lying flat on his back. She was at his side in seconds. She pressed her ear to his mouth, desperately listening for a breath as she watched his chest. It remained motionless.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Allison hastily wiped them away, shivering in her wet clothes. She quietly maneuvered herself over onto Stiles' right side and positioned her fingers to face his left side. With the heel of her hands positioned directly over his sternum, Allison shot two breaths into Stiles' open mouth and began the compressions.

Two breaths, thirty compressions.

Two breaths, thirty compressions.

Tears of frustration rolled down her face as the minutes crawled by without any response from Stiles. He wasn't waking up, but she could've sworn that she saw his chest rise a fraction before slumping back down by the cruelty of gravity.

Two breaths, thirty compressions.

_You can't die,_ Allison frantically thought. A lump was forming in her throat, and it hurt like hell to swallow it down. _You can't die, not after all of the shit that we've been through. You'd be so pissed if you went out like this. You'd want—well, I'm not exactly sure, but certainly not something this normal and not so young. Please wake up, please wake up, Scott needs you—_

It was as if he had heard her thoughts. Allison blinked in disbelief; her eyes must be playing tricks on her because she could've sworn that she saw Stiles' eyelids flicker open for a moment.

"Stiles?" she breathed, daring to believe it. Her hands hovered over his chest, just in case she needed to continue the compressions.

She was instead greeted with a convulsing body that craved air.

Stiles sputtered and gasped, causing Allison to sob in relief. He had pushed himself into a sitting position, and coughed loudly in succession. Some water spilled from his mouth, and he breathed in the air with a wide mouth.

Stiles' eyes were wide, blinking rapidly as he twisted his head to look around in all directions. They finally landed on Allison, looking confused.

"Allison?"

"Thank God!" she cried, pulling him into her arms. He slumped against her, all of his energy finally exhausted as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. A quiet minute passed with Allison sobbing delightedly because he was alive, she was able to save someone.

She wasn't a murderer.

The giddiness of the accomplishment overcame her, and Allison pulled Stiles away just far enough to cradle his face and plant a kiss on his mouth. It was chaste, lacking tongue or even the scrape of teeth. Stiles blinked, looking perplexed as Allison drew away.

"You're blushing" was his first reaction.

Allison giggled nervously, brushing back the tears. "They're soft," she replied. "Your lips," she added quickly, seeing the weird look he was giving her.

"Not my first rodeo, though," he murmured. Stiles' eyes were then examining her, taking in the drenched attire and red eyes. "Thanks."

"For the kiss?"

"Uh, that too," Stiles said, a strange blush creeping up his neck. His hand pushed away his damp hair, which was beginning to dry itself in the cold air. "But for, you know, saving me just now. He—he just left me in there, looking so fucking _pleased_—"

"You're my friend," she said, cutting him off. "That's what friends do, right?" Allison saw Stiles shivering, whether from the water or the memory. She pulled him close, giving him a quick squeeze before drawing back.

Stiles' eyes widened. "How did you know where I was?"

Allison's mouth went dry, suddenly remembering Scott. She was so caught up in the adrenaline and relief of the rescue that she'd forgotten him. "I was with Scott," she whispered. "He took the front entrance to distract Peter long enough for me to come find you—"

"Do you know where he is now?!" Stiles demanded, his voice going high. Allison shook her head, shame burning below her sternum.

"Not too far," she replied, just as a loud crash was heard. Both she and Stiles' head swung in the direction of the door.

"Scott," Stiles said, rising to his feet. His teeth were chattering as he half-stumbled, half-ran towards the door.

"Stiles, wait!" Allison shouted at him. She went to grab her crossbow before pursuing after Stiles, who had already wrenched open the door.

* * *

"You wouldn't be able to turn him anyway," Scott gritted out. "And even if you could—"

"Even if I could, _what?"_ Peter sneered, pressing the tips of his claws into Scott's throat. He gasped, struggling to breathe without aggravating the puncturing pain in his windpipe. "He wouldn't want it? It's almost funny that you bring that up, because he and I had the exact conversation months ago."

"What?" Disbelief flushed through him. His gripped Peter's wrist, trying to extract his claws from his chest but the older werewolf gave him no leeway. He just smirked victoriously.

"It was quite simple, really. He helped me, so I wanted to help him. Sadly, he turned my offer down."

The moment of realization crashed through Scott like a tsunami wave. He felt cold all over. "What offer?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I know that you know the answer, Scott. Try not to parrot everything I say. Really, do we have to repeat what's already been said? _Have you been listening at all?"_

Scott was speechless. His grip on Peter slackened. Peter withdrew his claws slowly, delicately, causing Scott to hiss in pain. Standing up, he towered over Scott, who quickly scrambled to his feet.

"You gave him a choice?" Scott whispered.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," Scott replied, "because you never gave me one."

Peter sighed. "Are you still hung up about that? We all make mistakes." He shook his head as if Scott was being unreasonable. He ducked as Scott threw another piece of the chair in his direction, eyes glowing with rage. "He was lying; I could hear it in his heartbeat. It was steady until he refused my gift." Peter inspected his claws, casually eyeing Scott for his reaction. "He would still be alive if he—"

"Shut up," Scott growled. His fangs felt crowded in his mouth. He wanted to sink them into something, preferably Peter's throat for saying these lies about Stiles.

_He's not dead, he's not dead…_

Peter smiled. His eyes were patient and cruel, a sickening combination. That look broke the last restraint in Scott's body, snapping the floodgates open. For once, Scott almost felt _glad_ that his other side would be taking the reins of the fight.

_"Can a werewolf recover from a broken spine?"_ Scott asked coldly. _"How about if it was ripped out through their throat?" _

In an instant, Peter was lunging at him, catching his claws into Scott's forearm. He dug them right in, scratching the bone underneath before grabbing the bicep with his other hand. Scott roared in pain as blood spurted from the puncture marks. Peter gripped him tight before tossing him, his claws ripping out of his flesh. A wide arc of blood flew through the air in his wake. Scott slammed into the help desk, causing an almighty crash from dented metal and splintered wood. His wounds were closing up fast, but the raging pain was still there, ebbing and flowing underneath the skin.

"Scott?" said a shaken voice, barely audible if it weren't his enhanced werewolf hearing.

Stiles was standing halfway through the pool entry door, his skin wet with the remnants of water. His amber eyes were wide and the ghost of a sentence fading from his lips.

But the darkness refused to let go, even as Scott's mind filled with relief. He wanted to sob, wanted to touch Stiles to make sure that he was real.

Dark Scott had other plans, however.

He gingerly rose from the remains of the help desk, grinning viciously. Peter had slunk back into the shadows, no doubt watching to see if his poorly-planned "lesson" would pan out.

_"If it isn't the little fuck toy himself,"_ Scott sneered, stalking towards Stiles. Stiles stood his ground, however. His eyes were fixed on Scott's wolfish ones as his body trembled from either cold or fear.

The darkness was hoping for the latter.

* * *

Allison barrelled through the door just as Scott was grabbing Stiles by the throat and slamming him into the opposite wall. She instantly trained her crossbow on him, a single bolt notched and ready to fire. Scott held out a clawed hand, turning his head to glare at her.

_"This is a private conversation,"_ Scott hissed, and Allison shivered involuntarily. _"Let the boys talk it out, alright?"_

Allison lowered the crossbow slightly, but it remained fixed on her former boyfriend. The last time she'd threatened to shoot him was back when she was under Kate's thumb.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Peter. Anger roiled through her, but she elected to ignore his presence for the time being. Scott was squeezing Stiles' throat, causing tiny whimpers to escape from his mouth.

"Let him go first," Allison said firmly.

Scott bared his fangs at her, causing her to gape in surprise. _"What part of 'private conversation' don't you understand?"_

"Allison—" Stiles gasped out. His eyes did the rest of the pleading for him. Allison bit her lip, hesitating. She finally stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides.

Scott had a triumphant look on his face. It was a terrifying and surreal expression, one that was alien for a person like Scott. There was bloodlust in those eyes, whereas the real Scott would've had kindness in them. There wasn't a trace of that left, and Allison felt helpless.

She hated that feeling. She thought she got rid of it long ago.

Scott, meanwhile, had swung his head back to face Stiles. He pressed his face up to Stiles', their lips brushing the air between them.

"Are you there, Scott?" Stiles asked. "It's me, Stiles."

Scott rolled his eyes, but his grip on Stiles' throat lessened by an eighth of a fraction. He rolled his eyes at Stiles' quip just before slamming his lips into his friend's. The kiss was harsh and bruising, and Scott grinned viciously before adding his tongue into the mix. Stiles elicited a small moan, looking aroused and terrified at the same time.

Scott broke the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. His hands slid down from Stiles' throat to his naked shoulders, his thumb tracing his collarbone.

_"Scott's so happy that your human limitations didn't kill you this time around,"_ Scott said. He began to bite kisses along Stiles' jawline, and he could tell from Stiles' averting gaze that he was trying to ignore the sensations enrapturing his body. _"As am I."_ He licked Stiles' bruising throat, traveling upwards all the way from the base and ending at Stiles' swollen lips.

"This undivided attention is really distracting right now," Stiles said. He winced when Scott's grip on him tightened. "Scott," he began anxiously, "please, I need you right now, not this parallel universe version of you. Come on, I know you can hear me—"

_"Oh, he can,"_ Scott replied cruelly. His attention was back at Stiles' wide-eyed expression. The werewolf's face was devoid of everything that remotely resembled his best friend. He choked back a sob; this isn't what he wanted.

"Then let me talk to him!" Stiles screamed. He was tired and every breath was a miracle no thanks to Peter and his absurd scheming. He wanted Scott back so badly, and this bastard inside of him was refusing to let go.

_"I'm afraid that Scotty can't come out to play anymore,"_ Scott said. _"He's been a bad boy, you see. If he had let me be in control then this 'lesson' would've gone a lot smoother."_

"Scott—" Allison started, but Scott growled at her. She brought her crossbow back into position, watching Scott with a wary eye.

_"But of course he wouldn't need me if it hadn't been for you, _Stiles," Scott said accusingly, stretching out the last word with such venom. He gripped Stiles tightly before throwing him to the floor. Stiles' body skidded across the smooth, cold lamination. He groaned, trying to get to his knees as Scott sauntered over to him. He stood over Stiles before bending down. Scott pushed Stiles back down onto his back, his claws now stained with fresh blood.

"Scott—" Stiles whispered, wincing.

_"YOU DID THIS TO HIM, REMEMBER?!"_ Scott roared. His claws sunk deeper into Stiles' chest, causing more blood to well up. Scott shook his head before he gave Stiles a calm, icy smile. _"Scott needs me because of what you did to him. You caused him to be this monster that you admire so much."_


	8. Your Heart in My Hands

Stiles stared up at Scott, trying to ignore the stinging pain coming from his chest. The blood was cooling on his skin, congealing into tiny puddles of gore. He was too terrified to move his hand and swipe it away; Scott's look of rage was pinning him down. He felt small and insignificant, which proved that this wasn't the _real_ Scott, wasn't _his_ Scott.

Scott never made him feel worthless the way his darkness did.

"I—" Stiles began, but the breath was suddenly knocked out of him as Scott's fist collided into his jaw. He spat out a wad of blood; his face was searing with pain and a dark bruise was no doubt forming there already. Stiles flinched as Scott's hands drew close to his face, but now the act had turned soothing as he cupped either side of Stiles' face, cradling it in a mocking example of gentleness.

_"You what, Szczesny?"_ Scott asked venomously. His thumbs scraped across Stiles' pale face, coming dangerously close to his eyes, as if he was contemplating gouging them out. He smiled when Stiles failed to respond. _"Oh come on now, why is your tongue failing you now? Have you dried up that well of excuses from repeated use? Give me one little lie, one pathetic justification for doing this to Scott."_

Scott had never been able to say Stiles' true name. He had often sputtered over the pronunciation of it when they were kids, and his face always used to flush so brightly when he flubbed up. Stiles would laugh it off, saying that Parseltongue was easier to speak than Polish before earning a timid smile from Scott.

But here, the syllables rolled off of his tongue in sharp, quick precision, never stumbling over the name. Stiles frantically wondered if the darkness controlling Scott could find his friend's memories, let alone read his mind.

"I didn't want to go out alone," Stiles whispered. "Your mom wanted you to spend time with her relatives over the break so I barely got to see you. I was lonely, and—and Dad was taking on extra shifts. Then he got the call about the body and I thought, 'Me and Scott need to see this!' I knew that you had to be home so I…" His words trailed off, leaving the rest to be implied.

Scott was watching Stiles carefully. _"For once, your heart was telling the truth,"_ he said. _"Still, it doesn't excuse your actions. You turned him into this,"_—and here Scott displayed his claws before raking them down Stiles' cheek—_"because you were a selfish little slut."_

"It's ironic that you're complaining about it," Stiles spat out. "You wouldn't exist in the first place if I hadn't been 'selfish'."

Scott laughed, all warmth drained from it. It slammed into Stiles like a brick wall, and he shuddered from the icy feeling that had nothing to do with his clammy, drenched body.

_"I_ always _existed,"_ Scott growled. _"Before that night and long before you fucked him up with your 'friendship'. I was conceived the moment when poor, pathetic Scotty couldn't stop Daddy from berating Mommy with his cruel words. It was that inkling of helplessness that turned into resentment over the years, but Scotty believed he was too good, too _noble_ to display such qualities. He had to be the good example for the rest of society. He had to restrain wild cards like you when all he wanted was to get revenge against the world." _Scott smiled, baring his teeth at Stiles, who was looking at him with disbelief. _"Darkness like this isn't born overnight—or from being turned into a monster. The full moon just brought me to the surface."_

Stiles was speechless. His mind was forming a blank when it came to a response to this confession. He felt boneless, incapable of moving even if he wanted to. He didn't want to believe those venomous words, but what it was true? Stiles loathed his newfound doubt.

Nothing made sense anymore.

All of a sudden, the sound of something whooshing through the air was heard, and then a roar of pain from Scott. He was off of Stiles instantly, stumbling back as he ripped out a bolt from his shoulder. Stiles scrambled to his feet, trying not to reopen the wounds on his chest. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he nearly fell back on his ass when Allison came beside him, gripping his elbow as she held him in an awkward side hug. She had already notched another bolt onto her crossbow, aiming it at Scott's torso.

"Sorry," Allison said unapologetically, "I just couldn't stay out of this one."

Scott threw the bloodied bolt onto the ground. His eyes were glowing yellow, fangs elongated and glistening in the light.

"So much for staying out of it," Stiles said weakly. His head slumped against her shoulder. "Not that I'm complaining."

"He's still in there," Allison said, watching Scott. "We just have to bring him to the surface." She aimed at his leg and shot off another bolt. It sunk into Scott's leg, and Stiles winced when he saw it at an angle. The bolt was sticking out the other end, having penetrated through both flesh and bone. Scott roared as blood erupted from his leg. He reached down, and ripped the bolt free, causing more blood to spray out. It speckled the floor with crimson. Scott was crouching now, his clawed hand pressed over his gaping wound. His eyes were fixed on Stiles, glaring at him with such taint, such vile anger. Stiles felt nauseous.

"Allison, stop," Stiles whimpered. Allison blinked. Her crossbow was still pointed at Scott.

"Stiles, I'm not going to kill him," she replied. "But I have no choice; I have to subdue him."

"No," Stiles argued. His body felt heavy and his knees weak. Allison noticed this, and helped lower him to the ground. "No, I need to help him. I need to do this. _Please_."

Allison looked at Scott, and then back at Stiles. "He's not himself right now. You realize that, right? He'll kill you in this state."

"No he won't," Stiles said. "This is Scott we're talking about."

Allison hesitated. She gave him a quick nod. "I'll watch your back."

"I know you will."

Stiles bit his lip as he crawled over to Scott. Spots of blood appeared underneath him as a few of his cuts reopened, causing him to hiss in pain.

"Scotty?" he whispered gently. "Wake up in there; I know you can hear me. Scott, come back."

* * *

Getting shot in the leg was not a pleasant experience, but the pain did help Scott regain an ounce of control. It was enough to stop his darkness from shredding Allison alive, from causing Stiles more pain.

When he heard Stiles' confession he wanted to scream at him, telling him that it wasn't his fault. Even though Stiles would (and could) wrangle him into one of his insane plans, Scott always went along with it willingly. He was never forced.

He _wanted_ to go with Stiles into the woods that night. Yes, he had been mad and terrified of what the consequences had done to them, but he didn't regret going with Stiles. Scott's mind ran wild with the possibilities of the alternatives: Stiles could've been the one who was bitten. Stiles could've been coerced by Peter to become a killer.

Scott's claws were out. His hands were shaking as Dark Scott fought back for control. _This isn't your fight, my darling, _it whispered in his head. _If you be good and let go, I'll let you have him. I'll let you touch him with human fingers instead of wolf ones. The kisses can be tender, though I much prefer those dirty, breathless ones. He enjoys them too, though he'll never admit it. I understand how much you love him; that's why you're resisting me so much. But he has to be taught a lesson. He's been an evil, greedy boy who's caused you so much pain—_

"No, that's not true!" Scott yelled. He plunged his claws into his thighs, and he hissed from the unbearable pain. Stiles was crawling over to him, moving minutely on his hands and knees. He halted when Scott stabbed himself, his eyes wide open.

"Scott?"

"STAY BACK!" Scott screamed. Stiles gave him a startled look, but continued making his way over to him.

_Look at this! Even he knows that he has to be punished! He knows what he's done, what he's done to you. Just let me—_

"No!" Scott cried. His claws had sunk all the way into his flesh. Blood continued to flow out of his wounds, and his eyes stung from the unthinkable, relentless pain. But every second he held them in was another second that his darkness wasn't mauling Stiles to bloody pieces.

"Scott," Stiles said. Scott blinked rapidly. Stiles was kneeling in front of him. His hands were covering Scott's, and he had a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. "Scott, stop hurting yourself. Please, take them out."

"I can't," Scott sobbed. He smelled rather than felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. "I can't, or he'll hurt you."

"Come on Scotty," Stiles argued. His thumbs made soothing circles on Scott's hands, and he shuddered from the comfort. He didn't deserve it, not after all of the damage that he'd caused him from today alone. "Are you seriously telling me that you can't take him on? Is this really the best you can do?"

_Yeah,_ sighed the voice sarcastically, _is this the best you can do? Come on, take those things out. Otherwise you'll give yourself scars._

"I can't," repeated Scott. He saw Allison out of the corner of his eye. She was watching them with curious intent, her crossbow raised but not directly pointed at him. He took that as a small sign of faith.

"Scott," Stiles said, "Listen to me. I don't care about what he made you do. Just forget about it all; it wasn't your fault."

"Don't you remember what I did to your back?" Scott whispered miserably. "Those are never going to heal."

"You didn't do that to me. I just pissed him off because I didn't run away."

"My hands did that—"

"But they've done other things too!" Stiles protested. His suddenly grabbed Scott's face and drew him close. His thumbs wiped away the tears that were refusing to cease. "They protected and saved countless people! They're selfless hands that would never hurt anyone on purpose! What they did to me against your will was just a little blip, alright? It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."

"It does matter," Scott murmured. "I hurt you. I can't just ignore just because I did a million good deeds. They're not going to erase the times that I tortured my best friend."

Silence followed this confession. Scott and Stiles stared at each other; the darkness was still rattling off excuses and lies, anything to take away Scott's control. Scott ignored him. His felt his legs going numb.

"Please take your claws out," Stiles said softly. He pressed his forehead against Scott's. The werewolf could feel the heat coming off of his friend. There was fear, determination, and endearment rolling off of him in a confusing, emotional wave.

"What if I—"

"You won't."

Slowly, Scott withdrew his claws. He swore and gritted his teeth. The wounds around the claws had healed, trapping them inside. Pulling them out was like ripping out teeth. It took several minutes for them to be fully worked out. Scott gasped loudly. He felt the familiar burn and euphoria as the bloody holes in his thighs began to stitch themselves back together.

"He's going to try and come back," Scott said. "I need you to move away. Please Stiles, I need to do this. I have to stop him, once and for all."

"I know," Stiles agreed. "But you'll need some motivation if you plan to pull through all of this."

Scott didn't have enough time to process his words before he felt Stiles' lips on his.

It was radically different from all of the times Dark Scott had forced himself on Stiles. For one, Stiles was the one to initiate it. It wasn't bruising or cruel, for another. His darkness always took this intimate gesture and twisted it into a punishment.

When Stiles kissed him, it felt like a reward. It felt like something he deserved to keep, to need, to want without feeling guilt.

Scott was reluctant to draw away, but he felt his darkness screaming at him. It wanted to pervert this gift, his reason to hold on and fight back. He needed to withdraw while it was still pure. Scott broke the kiss, and heard the whining loss coming from Stiles.

"I think I can stop him now," Scott said. "I need you to step back, though."

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles replied, grinning faintly. "Besides, I have a few choice words that I want to say to the fucker."


End file.
